


Blanket Burrito

by shadowolfhunter



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, accidental reveal, compassion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 23:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowolfhunter/pseuds/shadowolfhunter
Summary: Lucifer is a mess, after a bust up with Chloe, he can't get back on an even keel.One thing helps. And Lucifer seeks it out.What happens in the blanket burrito, stays in the blanket burrito.





	Blanket Burrito

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverWolf7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWolf7/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Safe Word](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15397908) by [SilverWolf7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWolf7/pseuds/SilverWolf7). 



> So. My mind has been wandering (nothing new there then), and inspired by SilverWolf7's wonderful fic, Safe Word, this little ditty is the first... You may want to read Safe Word first, because then some of this will make more sense to you.
> 
> Things you should know. This is not a Deckerstar fic. If you don't like, don't read.
> 
> Two movies are referenced here. Well one movie, and a song from another movie. The first one, that just went through my head as random things do... and well, Ella would totally kick butt. The second is a more obscure reference, but kudos to you if you get it.

So. The incident has affected him more than he would have thought possible. He finds he needs company. Then he finds that he does not need that kind of company.  
He needs Miss Lopez. And her blanket. Which is preposterous. Ridiculous. He’s the Devil. He doesn’t need Miss Lopez.

Then he’s standing on her doorstep, looking helpless. It’s been days. No sleep. And days, nights whenever he closes his eyes he sees the thing he would rather not see and Miss Lopez seems to perfectly understand what he needs. Blanket burrito and cuddle. Stat.

The expression on his face says no, but the brown eyes that are pleading with her, Ella understands. She guides him inside. 

The next five minutes are a blur, but time and the blur straighten themselves out, and he’s down to his boxers, wrapped in Ella’s big fluffy blanket, wrapped in Ella’s slim, yet surprisingly muscular, but not so much as to be unfeminine, arms… and… He closes his eyes because for some reason he’s channelling the curiously hackneyed dialogue of a movie, he’s really not sure which one…

He yawns.

He’s asleep at last.

 

Ella smiles down at her dozing blanket bundle. He’s been looking tired and wrecked for days, and she’s felt so very angry at Chloe’s lack of kindness or understanding. She totally didn’t want to push, but…

She talked to Linda about it. How she wanted to offer, but didn’t want to push him. She had to let him come to her of his own free will.

Free will. Ella smiles at that thought, cuddling him just a little closer. Luce is all about his free will. He never drops character for a second.

 

He hears a swishing sound and he shivers. Tensing, he moans unintelligibly. He moves his head from side to side… noooooooooo.

Somewhere beyond his nightmare, there’s a shocked gasp, and Lucifer’s eyes snap open. Half between sleeping and waking, in the force of his nightmare, he’s changed. He can feel it. No. No. No. No. Nooooooo. His eyes meet Ella’s, and he pulls back, shaking in terror, because she’s seen and she’s broken and it’s all his fault.

But she’s still there. She’s down on her knees, beside her couch, and there are tears rolling down her cheeks, and she’s not afraid, he can read that in her eyes, alight with sorrow and pain. Pain for him. The Devil. And he wants to beg her not to grieve, because he’s the Devil, immortal etc, etc, etc, but something in him is transfixed, as small, tender, entirely human hands touch his face, so gently. Her large brown eyes so filled with compassion, and every word he was going to say flies out of his head in the face of her grace. Her humanity.

He changes back.

He wants to ask if she’s alright, he wants to bluster that it was her imagination, but the truth lies there between them, and he knows without asking that he has found acceptance.  
He has no idea what that might mean. She’s like no one he’s ever really met. She has faith, which should put them in opposite camps, but he’s drawn to the purely good soul that she is. She has a past, which might explain it.

“So, it’s all true.” Her voice is soft, her wonderful, gentle, kind hands are still touching his face. He’s too full to speak. He just nods, then before he’s had a second to process, to pull the tattered remnants of his naturally devilish armour about him, she’s back on the sofa, and he finds himself and his blanket burrito wrapped securely in her arms again.

He could get free.

He should get free, but somehow, he really can’t face the certain loss of dignity.

His devilish dignity is already on the floor.

He burrows his face into the crook of her elbow, and wriggles a hand out of his burrito to grasp her fingers. And huffs a little at the press of her lips to the side of his head, she lets go of his hand, there’s some wriggling and resettling, and he finds his hand grasped again, her arms are around him and she really has to be some kind of contortionist, because one of her hands is running through his hair, disturbing his perfectly straightened coiffure, and releasing those damned curls in all their riotous and ridiculously messy imperfection.

He snuffs haughtily. But fails to move.

 

 _Oh God!_ Ella takes in the apparition on her sofa, and for the first time in her life, the clue bat strikes first shot. He… Lucifer… he really is the Devil.

So not a method actor. Huh!

She stares down at this reddish, brownish, scarred, mangled, twisted visage before her very eyes. On her couch.

She should be terrified.

She takes a step. Forward, not back. Because he’s her Lucifer. Her friend. The friend that could have ended what was being done to him with a snap of his fingers, but didn’t because that was not who he really was.

The friend who has suffered excruciating pain. Her friend, who does not deserve to suffer any more. Because he’s suffered enough.

She casts her eyes heavenward, as tears start to run down her cheeks. _How could you? How could you see his pain, and not take that away from him?_

She kneels down by his side. No idea what to do, because she’s only human, and he is something divine and what can a mere mortal do.

She can hold him close. She saw through his fear the instant that their eyes met. 

He can’t let go. He should. He should push her away. But this is Miss Lopez. She’s tenacious. She took him to church. She isn’t going to give up, and he knows it. She’s like the Detective.

Except she’s not.

Miss Lopez offers him love and comfort, the Detective rules and regulations. It occurs to him that she would help him hide the body if needed. No lecture. The Detective. He frowns. He’s no longer sure what the Detective would do.

He burrows deeper into the comfort of Miss Lopez’s, Ella’s, embrace. He feels safe, secure again, connected. He wants to hold this feeling for as long as he can. So it’s cowardly, and Miss Lopez, Ella can come to her senses any time and push him away, but he’s going to soak up this love right now, because he needs it. They have all the time in the world.


End file.
